


Bitter/Sweet

by devovere



Series: Smooch, Screw, or Slay? Tumblr ficlets [4]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: A hodgepodge I know, Angst, Chakotay Backstory, Coffee, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, F/M, Ficlet, Food is culture, Inspired By Tumblr, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Love is an addiction, Native American/First Nations Cultures, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, food is love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:47:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovere/pseuds/devovere
Summary: How Chakotay finally acquired a taste for coffee.





	Bitter/Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> J/Cers -- notably Elliemayday (@themostpowerfulmagicofall), Killermanatee, and MiaCooper -- on Tumblr seized on this lovely little poem and demanded fic for our corner of fandom: 
> 
>  
> 
> [“I never cared for the taste of coffee until it was paired with the sweetness of your lips. Now I’m addicted, too.” — A tea drinker’s change of heart // Grazia Curcuru](http://prosebyday.tumblr.com/post/172050438196/i-never-cared-for-the-taste-of-coffee-until-it-was)
> 
>  
> 
> I didn't write this to a [Smooch, Screw, or Slay?](https://devoverest.tumblr.com/post/174132926227/smooch-screw-or-slay) prompt, but I think it fits Smooch #36 (A Kiss ... to give up control) very nicely indeed.

We didn’t grow coffee on Dorvan. Yes, it is a New World food, but its use as a plantation crop caused so much harm to our ancestors that we left it behind on Earth, along with alcohol and processed fats. 

We used other Native stimulants -- coca leaf for everyday and tobacco for ceremonies -- and sometimes we had black tea from the Tibetan settlement. With breakfast we young ones got goat’s milk, while the adults favored teas made from sassafras and ginseng root. 

I never tried coffee until I got to Starfleet Academy. I didn’t like it, but I drank it, because others did and I was there to learn Federation culture along with astrophysics and combat strategy. 

I masked the bitterness with cream and sugar. My dedication to my goals kept me blind to how that was a metaphor for the man I was becoming. 

In time, I forgot the tang of warm goat’s milk, the mellow bite of roasted chicory, just as the rhythms of the drum circle and the dances of the pow-wow faded from the muscle memory of my hands and feet. 

\-----

After my years in the Maquis, living stripped to the bone, all our resources focused on fighting and then surviving just to fight some more, I’d forgotten about the little social rituals of a Federation starship. A hot drink helped to pace a conversation, giving everyone something to do with their hands and providing the small talk that cushions bare facts. No open flames so near the bridge or we might well have used a peace pipe at first. A mug of coffee served as well. 

Janeway with her coffee and Tuvok with his spiced tea ... the pots we went through in our early meetings could have kept the Night Owl in business. She was so pleased that I knew her favorite coffee shop near the Academy. That conversation built the first bridge that rested on something other than our unlikely Starfleet-Maquis alliance. 

\-----

On New Earth, she guzzled replicated coffee by the liter, until the ion storm brought her research to an abrupt halt and seemed to sign our terminal lease on that planet’s biosphere. Then she quit her addictions cold turkey -- to caffeine, to hope. She said we needed to preserve the replicator for necessities. 

I saw that she also sought punishment for failure. The only way she knew to give up on leaving was to give up everything that had kept her going. 

The first time she let me give her a neckrub, the years of chemically-induced tension in her muscles were crystalline in texture. She all but crackled under my fingers. Her first moan was one of pain, through gritted teeth. 

I think she hoped I would break her; she knew no other alternative to wired self-control. I drew instead on what little I knew of healing, reaching far back into my planetbound boyhood. Warm firm strokes, reading the movements of her closed eyes. I stopped short of causing muscle soreness; my touch was a gentle promise for more, tomorrow. 

Next I plied her with stories, good food, our hands in rich dirt. Walks in the sun, swims in the river. I strung a hammock in the shade, and she learned to nap. 

One morning I served her coffee with breakfast. I’d anticipated an argument, but she took a sip, let her eyes roll back with pleasure, and gave me a crookedly beatific smile. She knew when she was beat. 

Then she kissed me. 

\-----

Back on the ship now, I drink coffee only when she gives it to me. I mask the bitterness with cream and sugar, and I try to forget how sweet it tasted on her lips. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. I invite and appreciate feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * <3 as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta) may be a useful resource for some. 
> 
> I reply to comments. That means you can expect me to reply to your comment, eventually and barring unforeseen circumstances. (Once in a while I miss or don't receive a notification, for example.) 
> 
> If you _don’t_ want a reply, for any reason, feel free to sign your comment with “whisper.” I will appreciate it but not respond.


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